[MaC] And So it Begins ... Anton

[Mel Mason]

In Flat No.17 of Mortmain Mansions, Anton Barowenski, the Polish pianist, 
slipped the  gold cufflinks in to the crisp white cuffs of his shirt. 
Formal dress for this cocktail party of Fitzroy's.  The men would be in 
black tie, he assumed, and the women in cocktail dresses - unless, as people 
increasingly did, they chose to wear uniform.

Barowenski frowned.  Earlier in the week, a party of Polish airmen had come 
to the afternoon concert.  Afterwards, they had come backstage to see him, 
and congratulate him, and they had gone on to the deserted stage together to 
listen as he had played to them Chopin, and then Polish folksongs.  They had 
sung together, and shared the half bottle of brandy he kept in the dressing 
room, and before they left, each of them had shaken his hand and thanked 
him.

But he had felt like a traitor, a coward.  What was he doing her in England, 
playing tunes, while Leila and Sara were trapped in the horror of war?  What 
was he doing, while his countrymen were risking their lives in the skies 
over England, fighting to ensure that some small part of Europe remained 
free?

Afterwards he had gone to Fitzroy and told him that he wanted to break his 
contract, to join the Air Force.  And Fitzroy had said ...

Well, no matter now.  He would play tonight at this cocktail party, just as 
he would perform at the Wigmore Hall in two weeks' time - and at the other 
concerts Fitzroy had arranged.  He would play ... and smile and bow ... and 
his heart would be in Poland, with Leila and Sara.

As he turned to move towards the door, he caught a faint, elusive scent, and 
he smiled, a little sadly.

Well, perhaps a little piece of his heart would be in London, too.